


Boring Sex

by Senora_Luna



Series: 30 Day OTP Smut One Shots [3]
Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: F/M, Marriage, Oral Sex, Porn, Smut, artist struggles, sex between consenting adults, writer's block Hector
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 00:44:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16186547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senora_Luna/pseuds/Senora_Luna
Summary: Being married to a musician has it's ups and downs.





	Boring Sex

Being wed to a poet song writer was an experience. Imelda would never have believed anyone had they told her that would be the man she eventually married. Flowery poetry usually annoyed her, and she was much more a dancer and singer than writer when it came to her own love of music.

 

Since being with Hèctor though, he had wormed his eccentric creative traits into her heart. The spontaneous jokes sprinkled with poems, the sweet adoring pet names, the sudden love note left on her pillow, all of these quirks (once her skeptical heart accepted them as authentic) had become endearing to her, that in her nightly prayers she always included the gratitude to be wed to such a great artist.

 

The only issue was the reverse side of the coin. Hèctor could be overly sensitive, worrisome, and sometimes so sappy it drove her up the wall. But worst of all he was obsessive when he started on a project that she was convinced he’d spend a hundred years on it if he lived so long. He would hunch over the kitchen table, scribbling, erasing, mumbling, all into that notebook of his and upon his little chalk board. Unshaven, unbathed, in the same shirtsleeves and trousers a week straight until she demanded he needed a bath or he would not be allowed in their bed.

 

Except this time, he was barely coming to bed. That morning had been the third in a row she woke alone in bed to find him at the table, cup of coffee in hand, much like the evening before when he had assured her he would join her in bed within the hour. Whether that were true or nor she never knew. Approaching night number four as they finished cleaning up after supper (while he spent the entire time tapping a tune on the table while wiping it down) Imelda finally felt her patience wearing thin with his music mania. 

 

“So are you bathing tonight?” Imelda asked crisply, eyeing him over her shoulder as he returned to his corner of the table littered in chalk dust and pencil shavings.

 

“Oh no problema, I think I am nearly done.” He didn’t even look her way, it was the same answer as last evening, while he scratched his messy growing beard.

 

“Hèctor.” She snapped. “This has become obsessive again.” Imelda snapped bluntly, making her way the table as she tossed the hand towel aside. Together long enough, he knew better than to ignore the aggravation in her voice, as he rose his gaze to her piercing eyes, scowling mouth, and folded arms.

 

                “I-uh…no no-I just promised Ernesto I’d get this song out before our show this weekend-and it’s there Imelda-I know it! I’m not being obsessive I’m making so much progress look-,” He lifted his notebook, but his version of ‘progress’ seemed to be only redrawn bars of scales-then an adjusted sharp to flat on a middle C from the last time he had shown her. Imelda sighed rubbing her forehead, he could get drunk on music clearly blind from logic at times like this.

 

                “I expect you bathed and in bed in an hour. We don’t always have to sing original songs.” Imelda said-forcing more compassion than she actually felt as he turned back to the notebook chewing on the end of it.

 

                “What kind of husband am I if I can’t make the livelihood I’m supposed to be ‘gifted’ in…” It was softer than usual-but she heard it stalling in the doorway, as she drifted her gaze back to his oil lamp illuminated visage. Imelda a moment to count out her breath, and practiced her own shortcoming of letting go of her annoyance to hear out another person. Slowly, her shoulders relaxed and she took a step toward him.

                “A sane one.” Imelda said flatly, hearing him laugh dryly without looking her way. “A bath and then bed.”

 

                “…Si si…I’ll be there before you close your eyes I promise.”

 

                “You promise?”

 

                “Si.” Imelda eyed him skeptically, looking at the clock that ticked away on their kitchen wall. “One hour Héctor.”

 

                “Si-si I know…I know.” And Héctor offered her the most appeasing smile and wave he could-until she finally departed the kitchen.

 

                Imelda didn’t know what woke her-maybe it was a thud, maybe it was dogs outside, or maybe it was her restless mind. Most likely, she concluded it was the evening chill drifting between her quilt and body. Like usual she wore a long cotton nightgown, lose and comfortable for sleep-but chilly at times when the autumn season rolled around. The desert was unforgiving in the night, freezing with the same intensity it warmed, as she subconsciously scooted closer to her husband for warmth. That is, she would have had he been there. Instead she rolled into a chilled spot of the bed-evident no one had been there all evening.

 

                “Héctor Rivera!” Imelda muttered like a curse shooting up to her forearms, then rolling from the bed itself. The agitation and exhaustion in her propelled her forward-not even bothering with a shawl as her loose braid wiped behind her as she spun the corner in their hallway.

 

                 Though when she reached the kitchen, ready to give the man a piece of her mind she heard a soft sound that paused her tracks. Shuddering breath, and from the soft glow of the oil lantern Héctor was no longer scribbling over his notebook-his face was in his hands as his elbows rested on the table. Cautiously, silently as possible, she crept forward her bare feet padding against the cool sandstone tiles of their kitchen. When she was finally but a few centimeters away-he lifted his head, quickly wiping his face and biting his lip.

 

                “…I know…” Came a miserable mumble out of his mouth, and Imelda let out a gentle sigh circling around the table to lean against its edge before him. Tenderly, she lifted his chin and noticed puffiness of his sleep deprived eyes, even more reddened from his distress.

 

                “Héctor…” Imelda scooped a hand beneath his chin with a soft little stroke. Relieved at her patience he turned his face into her soothing touch, murmuring something unintelligible and closing his eyes. “You really need to come to bed…”

 

                “I’m-“ He gave her a nearly pleading smile-it was so sorrowful and desperate, “I’m close I know I am-,”

  
                “You’re delirious and tired…” She sighed putting a palm over his own-stopping him from picking up his pencil again. Gently, she leaned into him, moving aside his greasy bangs to kiss his forehead. Lifting her gaze to the clock she frowned and let out a yawn herself at the inching hand moving nearer to three o’clock am.

 

                “You’re tired…” Héctor sighed, collecting himself with another sniffle and reaching for a mug of coffee with his left hand before recalling it was already in his right. “You should go back-,” Before he could bring it to his lips Imelda intervened, sitting upon the table and covering his mouth with her hand.

 

                “Put it down.” Firmly, her gaze like she were his Mamá. Héctor made a pout, and released the cup, Imelda quickly shoved it down the table-uncharacteristically reckless so it was out of his lanky reach.

                “I only need one more night-,”

 

                “Héctor you’re talking in circles.”

 

                “You don’t understand I’m so-,” Before he could go on she reclined on the table stealing a kiss from his mouth. Normally this sort of thing distracted him easily from his intentions, but in his obsessive writing she wondered how strong her pull could be. Slowly, his lips animated, and she could feel the soft brush of his long lashes on her cheek as he gave in. Perfect. But then…scratching? Reclining form his lips Imelda fell into a furious pout seeing him writing with his pencil amidst their kiss. 

               

                “You’re writing while I kiss you!”

               

                “You-inspired me!” Héctor pleaded, with a sheepish smile-and then a soft yawn. It only made her fume. So music could keep him up for days-but kissing _bored_ him!? Well we’ll just see about that. Before he could manage another excuse she slipped on the table entirely, and crawled her way toward his seat. Instantly his weary eyes widened, it was a night gown for warmer seasons-not one of her high collared conservative pieces. Meaning the neck line hung loose, and presented him a view of her breast, until she covered his pile of work, her knees hanging off the edge as she slowly slid his notebook to the side careful not to spill his ink bottle. Before his tired mind could catch up with her, she ran a bare foot up across his thigh-slowly toward his crotch.

               

                “Is this inspiring?” Despite his exhaustion, his eyes still flickered to her with a meek leer as he sank back in his seat.

               

                “I must be getting really good if I can be unbathed and unshaved yet you’re looking at me like that.” Imelda gave a soft scoff reclining closer to him.

               

                “Musico if it will bring you to bed I will undress on the table-there’s nothing less titillating than the bags under your eyes.”

 

                “Ay that is a relief I’m much too tired to get anything up and working…” He muttered reaching for a pencil again, and the same offense sparked in her as she slinked down to his lap.

 

                “Are _your_ eyes not working then? I for one am clean.” She soothed in the low tone he enjoyed, her fingers rolling through his messy hair and lips trailing the scruff upon his jaw. A gentle shiver stirred him beneath her-excellent.

 

                “You are and remain the most lovely muse…” He half slurred thumbing an ink stained thumb across her cheekbone. “I don’t want to keep you awake though, it’s only a little more work-,” Imelda scowled and he immediately trailed off knowing a mistake had been made. Normally the sight of his wife purring with desire, aptly upon him asking for attention would leave him ecstatic. But Imelda knew he had reached the point he was so consumed with work she would have better luck stripping bare and letting him write his notes on her to see if he noticed the difference than any usual tricks.

 

                “Héctor. Come. To. **Bed**.”

 

                “Imelda…” He half soothed putting on his most annoying traveling salesman voice as if it could somehow win her over when she was this frustrated. He truly must be delirious if he believed that was going to work. “I have only a bar left to write-just one little bar-fifteen minutes top-you can go lie down, rest your head-and I’ll be there in-,” Before he could go on she snatched the pencil from his hand with a cold look dropping it on the floor. He scowled back. “Isn’t that childish?”

 

                “Oh **I’m** childish?” Keeping eye contact she slid the ink well off the table until it fell with a soft crinkle of glass. Héctor’s jaw fell open she was willing to make such a deliberate mess and waste-but the anger on her face alerted him despite the fact she remained in his lap he’d obviously crossed a line.

               

                “What was the point of that!” He sputtered, unable to mask his own frustration.

               

                “Well it was either tie you up so you stop working or knock the utensils out of your hands and I don’t have any rope!”

 

                “I don’t see any need for us to be wasteful!”

               

                “Oh now you care about such.”

 

                “Well-yes-when I’m not making any progress and this is supposed to be the way I earn money!” He flushed waving his hands between his notebook and the floor.

 

                “And what about when we perform is that not enough? Or are you feeling inferior because you aren’t the grand Pátron raking in pesos all from _his_ efforts alone.” Imelda spat moving to her feet and crossing her arms. Héctor’s brows fell, a moment of anger-then the same sensitive and vulnerable sorrow she had walked in on before.

 

                “…Is that how you see it?” He asked softly. “…Maybe I…” then trailed off scratching his chin with a frown.

 

                “…Sometimes it crosses my mind.” Imelda admitted glancing to the ink on the floor. Thankfully he’d used up the majority of it that only a small puddle was forming. The touch of his callous covered fingers scooping up her small hand from her closed stance, drew her gaze back.

 

                “Lo siento…I think part of me is…I…” Slowly he bit his lip. “I do want to provide, I want to be more than some laughable musician you married and take care of you-and our family when it comes. But I’m not ashamed of working with you, or Ernesto-it’s a blessing…” A tender smile on his face as he again rubbed his bloodshot eyes.

 

                “Héctor…you’re so tired thinking such ridiculous things.” She sighed thumbing through his hair once again. “And you know I don’t-,”

 

                “-Need anyone to care for you-I know I know…doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying.”

 

                “Come to bed.”

 

                “I’m not tired…”

 

                “You’re beyond tired, the moment you lay down you’ll sleep.” He pouted at her, and she huffed lifting her palms. “Let’s compromise.” Oh how she loathed the word or stance. Yet it was part of marriage she was learning to get better at. “Let me pick up your things-and you finish your last line then come to bed with me.” There was a look in his eye ready to find a loophole or argue-that she dove under the table before she could get angry again. It was useless to debate when he was this exhausted, clearly logic wasn’t running his mind.

 

                Even as she found the discarded pencil she could hear him whittling away at another one-about to begin his next line. For a moment she sat beneath the table, contemplating what could possibly stop him when his mind was running on the buzz of excessive coffee and exhausted anxiety. Once more her gaze fell to his trousers and a little twinge of mischief sprung to mind. Maybe she was getting exhausted with ridiculous ideas too. Either way-there was something tantalizing about the dimly lit view of his legs, and the soft protuberance between them, and the fact he didn’t expect anything to happen.

 

                Creeping closer, her palms trailed up his thigh-closer to his crotch that she felt him suddenly jump-and scooch back from the table to get better look at her from his seat.

 

                “Did I startle you?”

 

                “I wasn’t…expecting um,” He put the new pencil behind his ear realizing he was caught red handed.

 

                “You know you’ve been so busy…we haven’t had much fun lately…” Once again her voice dropping to that sweet whisper, a little purr as her nails trailed the fabric.

 

                “Oh…we…haven’t have we?” Imelda bit her tongue from being annoyed-she wondered if this how a sailor’s wife felt; he might as well be absent he was so lost in his head. Keeping her coy gaze she plucked the clip of his suspenders free on one side watching his brow jump with a sudden alertness. Finally holding his attention she trailed her hands to his trouser buttons, and methodically undid them. If music was so much more interesting than their physical time together, she was going to give him something to contend with.

 

                Leaning forward she withstood the stench of his unwashed clothing and pressed a kiss along his underclothes-smirking slightly as she felt his cock give a little stir. There he was, the husband who could seduce and be seduced by beautiful words whispered into an ear. Untying the cotton fabric she freed his soft length, giving it a soft reverent stroke in her hand. Yes it had been awhile now-and she felt her own desire flicker awake, overshadowing any concerns she had about his current state of hygiene or focus.

               

                The sweet sigh he gave, and gentle hand atop her head stirred her further. This was the kind of attention she’d been missing from him. After growing used to such an adoring husband his absence was very tactile. Slowly she ran her tongue up his cock, reveling as it jumped weakly against the underside of her jaw as she finished. Another gentle hum from him, and pride surged in her. Well if it was this easy she would have gotten under the table on day one.

 

                Still soft, she rolled aside his foreskin to take the sensitive head into her mouth, sucking routinely in hopes of feeling his state change. After a minute without any-a touch of doubt creeped into her mind, he was still humming-but was he enjoying it? The hand on her head was still there, stroking-wait-tapping-was he? Imelda quickly let him go, snapping her gaze up to catch his free hand scribbling something away with his pencil.

 

                “Are you that bored!” Instantly she flushed deeply, feeling like an adolescent experiencing her first fumbling times with him again. He too flushed-clearly caught in what he thought was a covert act as he swallowed nervously grabbing one hand in the other; his nervous tick.

               

                “I-…I was just mult-tasking?” His voice raising an octave.

 

                “Well then maybe you’d better with your own hand!” No-no-no-no, her mind screamed! Being alone was exactly what he wanted. This was her sleep-deprived, utterly mad husband. There was no reason to get offended at his lack of response-it simply meant she would have to work a little…more creatively? Slipping from her own thoughts she became aware he was sputtering some kind of anxious reasoning.

               

                “And it was so wonderful it just had me _inspired_ and I wanted to capture that wonder is all-I wasn’t bored-how could I ever be bored with you-you’re my wife and I adore you-you’re not boring you’re wonderful I just-, and um-,” Dios he could ramble up excuses. Sometimes she wanted to spit at him to be a snake oil’s salesman. Her eyes drifted back to his sleeping shaft, still soft, small, unintimidating. Enough time had passed they knew one another’s limits well. How long the other could go without air-how long it usually took to make the other spend, and so on. Imelda was well aware at full mast she could not handle the whole length of her husband usually-and that went double for her throat. But this…well maybe that would surprise him.

 

                Héctor’s speech seemed to come to a sudden halt-as he sucked in a breath of harsh air. Now that sounded like surprise she pondered as she was able to easily take the entire soft length in her mouth. There was something thrilling about knowing all of him was under her control for a brief moment-he was so smooth in her lips, and there was a quiver running up her stomach as she felt her nose press against his pelvis.

 

                “Oh-whew-Imelda-“ croaked out of him, as his hand went her head in a gentle pat. “You-you have my attention…” ‘Of course I do’ she wanted to free her mouth to say. But her pride swelled-that would be too easy. He was barely any stiffer, and letting him go now he would only return to work. Instead she rose her gaze to his own, keeping his eyes while slowly running her tongue against him while keeping him in her mouth. And she felt more satisfied than she had all week when a soft moan left his lips.

 

                Now he was definitely growing harder-she could feel the pressure expanding her jaw with a soft ache, as she slid her lips the space she allowed-refusing to let him go. A husky moan came out of him as his hand finally held her head with the intention she was looking for. Good. Was all she could think, until she felt his shaft begin to increase in length-and the tip brushed the back of her throat. Damn, at his hard length surely he would be too mouth for her little mouth.

               

                The thought came to mind of the chorus girl gossip she had heard so frequently upon the road. Whenever she felt a blush of vulgarity or wanton excess-she could simply remember these girls who spoke of such wild and imaginative sexual encounters she felt nearly virgin next to their experience. But in this moment she recalled their raunchy interludes about having a man so far down their throat he could barely stand-they boasted any length was possible so long as one breathed like they were singing.

 

                He was tired-by now he would be easing away his hips to ensure she didn’t choke. But currently, he was so exhausted he was merely humming his song attempts, and stroking the top of her head reverently. If she was going to try now would be a good time, since he wasn’t so keen to stop her and it would certainly shake things up if he was so apparently uninterested that he could write while she had him in her mouth. Holding onto his hardening shaft with her lips she suckled harder-drawing him forward with her tongue-then taking a deep inhale through her nose that the tip could slide past the area of her mouth where she would usually cough-and instead sit warmly down her throat.

 

                Héctor choked on his own inhale, sitting up with a hunched over start to look down at her. A deeper red took over his tired face as he eyed his wife in momentary confusion trying to understand what exactly she had done-or at least _how_ she had done it. Instantly his hips arched forward in longing-for more of the delicious warm wetness, groaning weakly in a plea.

 

                “Mm…Imelda…that’s…so fine…” He licked his lips between little gasps still seeming unaware of her feat. Imelda tsked ready to force him to notice-she slid her mouth off him finally, eyeing the trail of saliva that strung between her lips and his thick tip. “You’re pretty.”

 

                “I should think so-do I have your full attention now?” The dazed nod that left him her made her heart swell in triumph. Excellent. Examining his cock he was nearly his full length now from a few little twitches sprung by her gaze upon him and the lusty tone of her voice. Now was the true test, it was no longer about stopping him-but she felt a sense of vindication to prove how much more rewarding that writing she could be. Following the tale of the chorus girls she inhaled deeply through her nose-expanding her diaphragm like she stood beside him ready to sing with his guitar. Instead now she planned to make him sing.

 

                She choked the first attempt, his cock hitting the wrong spot in her throat that her eyes watered and face flushed deeper. Héctor made a concerned mumble-she felt his hand touch her behind the ear to ease her back at the sound but she ignored the tender touch. Another inhale-a slower entrance, and she felt her throat fill with the fleshy warmth-and the hand snap from her ear to her braid digging into an overwhelmed fist.

 

                “O-oh-mierda-wh-what-how-are-you-,” He sputtered his hips begging for more-for her to go faster, clearly not intentionally he was so dazed. Imelda flickered her eyes up to his face-the satisfaction pushing her through any discomfort or insecurity. Now he could not be bored, he had forgotten the table and was doubled over-clutching her with one hand and the chair arm with the other. She sucked and pushed-until reaching his pelvis again-her nose buried in his black curls, she would have smirked were it possible.

 

                 Another little arch of his hips came, and she resisted a cough and inhaled once more to steady herself. This wasn’t so hard once she learned the rhythm of it-and surely with more practice it wouldn’t be so straining-that is if he earned more practice. It was thrilling-she completely possessed him and he would surely cry after her if she attempted to depart from him. With him this deep she didn’t even need to go quickly-the sensation itself had the man overwhelmed, and the smallest movements and suctions earned out groans and tugs of her hair. Maybe he wouldn’t have allowed this if he was more awake-he was sometimes so anxious with her-like she were a little china doll that would break. Pft. She had grown up with brothers and protected he and Ernesto more during the Revolution than vice versa. Why should he be so cautious?

 

                “D-Don’t…” She lifted her eyes and slowly slipped her mouth off to his manage of words. The hand on her hair ran down to her chin and tilted it high to look at him. “Don’t choke…por favor…” He murmured. Damn. How did he find a way to make her blush-to make her heart give a little surprised jump even when he was delirious enough to lose his mug while holding it.

 

                “Good though isn’t it?”

 

                “S-so good…” He panted sinking back into the chair. “I didn’t know, you, um,” he faltered his own face a shade of crimson.

 

                “Spend in my mouth then…”

                                                                                                                                   

                “Ay-…” It was clear he wanted to say one of his flowery things, or even something suave, but instead he stared exhausted, aroused, and desperately at her with an open jaw. Finally he just gave an exhausted sigh and nodded. “Gracias,” and arched graciously into her willing mouth. With her hands free she set them on his hips hugging him around the waist once she had him down her throat again. Weakly he arched-and roughly she suckled-eyeing him, lavishing the adoration and attention in his gaze upon her she’d been missing since his music mania began.

 

                He spent suddenly-but in his poor health it was hardly much, that she only recognized the sensation from the seizure of his hips-the pull on her hair, and the shuddering, high little winces that left him. There was a tiny trickle of liquid down her throat-but it was sparse in comparison to his usual expense. It was more evident when he was done because he hunched over her, reclining his head on her own and panting intensely.

 

                Imelda carefully slid herself off of him, rubbing the tender spot in her throat, but feeling such pride at her accomplishments that any soreness would simply remind him _not_ to ignore his wife. Sleepy fingers migrated to her head, trailing her hair and braid with tender attention as he tried to collect his breath.

 

                “Come here…let’s not sleep in the kitchen…” Imelda murmured gently easing him off her as he nodded in a daze, then began to fix his trousers.

 

                “You’re magical sometimes…” He slurred, “I can’t believe I even made it up, I’m sorry I wrote when you kissed me.”

 

                “And was sucking your pito.”

 

                “And while sucking me...” He repeated with a pleading smile.

 

                “Come along.” Imelda chided leading him by the hand as she twisted off the oil lamp. His dreamy look was fixated on her now-he didn’t even look back, nor request to stay with his writing. Once in their room he flopped onto the bed fully dressed despite her chiding he should at least undress. Well, at least he was in bed.

 

 Reclining beside him she was so aware he needed to bathe and his clothing needed a wash. But when his hand reached for her own, bringing it to his lips she managed her second compromise of the evening. What joy it was to know she would not wake up alone this morning.

**Author's Note:**

> My writing and art are available for commission at my tumblr. If my work makes you smile, a ko-fi helps me so much! The support of ko-fis and commissions have enabled me to write all I have! Thank you. 
> 
> http://senoraluna.tumblr.com/


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